A Drunken Night
by TheHarlequinnCat
Summary: Romano and our favorite Prussian find themselves sitting together in Spain's house, waiting for him to come home, with Lovi drunk out of his mind. Now, Gilbert takes advantage of this with a little secret-digging to get good blackmail; but the experience ends up far more personal than he intended. (No official pairings/not slash/meaningless fluff) T for Lovi's BAD language!
1. Chapter 1

_When on Omegle, cosplaying as Lovino, I had the best conversation with a Prussia cosplayer. I stupidly lost the conversation, due to having stayed up all day and night... And I wrote this on the following morning, still having gotten no rest whatsoever, and so I will probably read it over later and facepalm at all the spelling, grammar, and translation mistakes I obviously made. Don't even bother pointing it out, just try to enjoy the story. (However crappy it may be.) It doesn't really have all the elements of our like 3 hour conversation, which was all historical and intense; far more intense than this crap-cake I threw together in a desperate attempt to capture some random plotless fluff about nations bonding with each other. _

_So... Yeah... _

_This isn't really a pairing fic; although implied Spamano, and if you cross your eyes and believe you can take it as Prumano. But I'm a Spamano type of gal ;D _

_Interpretation! WOOO_

_Enjoy the abomination._

_DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything._

...

It was a late night, and Lovino Vargas was anything but satisfied with his current state of mind. He angrily thrust his exhausted and intoxicated frame through the house entrance, his face twisted in a mediocre scowl and his eyes darting around anxiously. He stumbled, nearly ramming into a side table. Believe it or not, the Italian's stress levels could get rather high at times. What he was met with was the last thing he expected, instead of his secretly beloved Spaniard sprawled out drunk after a night out with his posse; he was met by a familiar Prussian albino.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Romano burst out, his enraged accent cutting through the silence like a knife. Gilbert's vibrant red eyes lolled over to meet the other's body.  
"Where is that fucking tomato-bastardo?" The Italian added, shutting the door; getting antsy as various scenarios played through his mind. Gilbert took a swig of his German beer, there never seemed to be a night where he didn't drink.

"Out." He grumbled, not amused by Romano's pacing and cursing in his native tongue. "Y'know I can understand some of what you're saying..." With that one line, Romano shot Prussia an angry glower. "Because I'm just that awesome." He smirked, that same mischievous glint in his eyes as he always had. It was something that sparked other's immediate interest in him, but not the Southern Italian nation; it sent shivers down his spine and put him into a full-fledged internal panic mode.

"Why the FUCK are you in my house!?" He blatantly ignored the fact that Prussia seemed less than happy to hear his violent outbursts of Italian babbling.

"It's 'Toni's house, kleine miezekatze" (1) There was a pause, as Roma was trying to figure out exactly what Prussia had called him; whatever it was, it didn't sound intimidating or suiting to his nature. So his cheeks flushed an angry red. "And I'm allowed here whenever I want, because I'm awesome... And because Spain said I could." He then snickered at the other's distraught to this fact."Kesesesese!"

"Why the HELL are you even here then? La Spagna non è a casa-" (2) Romano's speech was cut off by Prussia's rude cackle.

"Keseseese! If you want us to make any progress and communication, tomaten jungen (3), then you'll have to speak English or German; that'd be nice. Can you speak any Ger-?"

"Chiudi quella cazzo di bocca!" (4)

"That didn't sound very nice, Roma." Gilbert mocked him with that toothy grin of his, eyes ablaze with fiendish delight. Lovino huffed and only realized that his undying hate of the situation was nowhere near over. "Anyways, if you MUST know. I'm here because Veneziano and mein bruder need some alone time-" He winked, seductively purring at S. Italy; only to receive more of the brute's native curses against him. He leaned back and took another swig, only amused by these notions at this point.

"I hate your guts, I hope you burn in hell. I'll kill both of you potato-bastardos!"

"Kesesesee, you couldn't kill me if you tried!"

Their argument escalated furthermore, and it came to a climax as the Italian burst out with a strong "I HATE EVERYONE!"

"Even Spain?" Prussia prodded at him with the words, causing him to snap and holler so loud that the rafters shook  
"I HATE HIM THE MOST!" ... This caused a very drawn out and awkward quietness to come over the room, leaving Gilbert to densely try to comprehend the fiery Italian's true emotions; which he was almost positive he knew. He was best friends with Antonio, and his "precious Lovi" was one of the things he never got tired of cooing over. Prussia was quiet for a while, then he focused in on the Italian's ranting and mumbling. One sentence in particular stuck out to him.

"Perché sempre io? Ma Dio mi odia?" (5) The older Vargas brother whimpered, and the Prussian nation understood that last sentence rather well; he wasn't THAT dumb to not pick up on it.

"Maybe God hates you and punishes you because you lie." He sneered, but mentally he thought 'Isn't that what Catholics aren't meant to do or something?' He tried to remember the scarce knowledge of immense religion, which he'd since given up on after so many centuries of hopelessness and despair.

"Si? You think so?" He realized just how disheveled Romano was, worn down and drunk and weary from a long night. A good samaritan would have sent him to bed and told him everything would turn out alright. But this was Prussia, and he wanted nothing more than to take advantage of the rare opportunity.

"Oh hell yeah, I think maybe you need to confess immediately!" He falsely decorated his tone with desperation, and watched Lovino sit down on the lounging chair opposite to him. Now he was getting somewhere, and it was almost impossible to suppress that obnoxious chortle of his.

"Immediately?..." Lovino mused, drunk out of his mind; his face was still red and his body tilting slightly far left.

"Shit yeah!" He then cleared his throat "As the AWESOME ME, I hereby grant you the permission to confess to Admiral Awesome!" But upon his own nickname for himself, he saw Lovino shift his weight and frown; brows furrowing. Then he lied "Did you know that 'my listener' is 'mein herr' (6) in German? So you can call me your listener!" He was pushing the limit, but Roma was too intoxicated to do anything more than nod it off and agree.

"Veh..." He sleepily murmured, taking on a rather cute appearance once he wasn't so furiously blinded by rage; once he took a moment to relax his facial muscles and give into his natural adorable features.

"So, do you hate all the nations? Honestly?"

"No.."

"Do you hate mein bruder and I?"

As soon as Romano's mouth opened, Prussia reminded him "Honesty."

"No, to be honest..." He hiccuped with a squeak "You both scare... the shit out of me. You're both so big and... fuckin'... big n'... n'shit." A drunk's confession was truthful, and Prussia seriously fought back the laughter growing within him.

"And what about Spain?"

"Mm... Spain... I like him, a lot... Uhh... Mein herr" Romano sighed, his cheeks a bright pinkish hue; and his eyes were a bit vacant and dreamy, as Feliciano's always were. They seemed glazed over in cluelessness, and he had no idea he was being played. He hadn't the slightest idea what he'd just called Prussia, as well. For he hadn't said 'my listener', but instead he'd called him a lord. This only further made the egotistical albino realize how big his advantage was.

"Ah!" Gilbert was smiling openly now, his small sharp teeth gleaming brilliantly "What else have you lied about to us? All of us, France, Spain, and I?"

"Francis... is terrifying." Lovi drawled, pulling a face at the thought of France. It was bizarre to hear Lovino ever use the nation's real name, and Gilbert inquired "Why?"

"He stalks me... and grabs my curl and tries to grope me... 'nd Spain doesn't do shit about that pervert-bastard."

"What's so important about your curl?" He curiously reached for it, and Romano jumped back; nearly toppling out of his chair.

"F-FUCK NO! GET AWAY!"

"What is it!?" Gilbert had to hide the somewhat malicious intentions he felt.

"It's a sensitive spot... I don't remember what the f-fuck it was called." Lovino grumbled, crossing his arms and drawing his knees to his chest. He was so full of lies, that even trying to get him to list them all off would take a whole other lifetime.  
"France isn't that bad, Roma, you just have to get used to it or not let him boss you around. Running away like a sissy doesn't do anything-"

"I'M TOUGH! I'M NOT A SISSY!" He hollered back, trying to protect what shreds of dignity he had left.

"Moving on! What are you scared of?"

"Being alone all the time... Alone protects me, but it's also when I realize that no one gives a fuck if I disappear or not. It's all about Feliciano, it's always been about my fratello." He rested his chin on his arms, eyes casting downward and fixating on a spot on the floorboards. Before Gilbert could respond he added "And thunderstorms."

"Y'know, West used to be scared of thunder." Gilbert admitted, no trace of deceit in his tone. Lovino laughed at this, an honest-to-God laugh. It rose up from the pit of his stomach and pulled the corners of his mouth into a happy wide smile. It was the sort of thing that made your heart skip a beat from shock, but then made you swoon in awe. The older nation joined in with a vicious "Kesesesesee!"

They were beginning to bond, and even if Lovino was too drunk to recall what he'd said two minutes prior, it was an ideal way to get blackmail information. However, in the process of his fun; he was truly learning more about Lovino. Lovi seemed more... More human, now that he was opening up. It was some foreign unknown land to Prussia, he was stepping in uncharted territory; because he got Romano to burst into hysterics and admit his fears and thoughts on others.  
...

"Why don't you like being touched?" Gilbert honestly wondered why Romano was so hesitant to be close to others, he always seemed to flinch or draw back; he always needed his personal bubble, and of course; people like Feli and Antonio didn't respect that bubble's law.

"I'm ticklish.."

"WOAH REALLY!? Fuck Yeah, muss ich sehen!" (7) Without any warning, Gilbert leaped over to where Lovino sat; defensively holding himself and cussing the Prussian out in Italian.  
"Tocca a me e che io chiamo la mafia!" (8)

It didn't take a genius to pick up the words 'The Mafia.' This made Gilbert pout in distaste and sit back in his initial spot, folding his arms and rolling his eyes. For now, he'd refrain from testing Lovino's limits. This was a once in a lifetime chance, and he wasn't going to pass it up.  
"Das ehrfürchtige mir leid" (9)

...

"Spain likes to talk about you, Roma... I don't get why you think he doesn't like you. He adores you, and it's annoying because he doesn't shut up. EVER." Gilbert was laying on the couch by now, trying to have a real conversation with Lovino by now.

"Really? Hmm... What does he say?"

"Just that you're cute n' shit like that... Stupid stuff."

"Seriously, has he said anything?" Lovino was still hunched in on himself on the lounging chair, all cuddled up with himself; arms daintily resting on his knees.

"Well... He told the awesome me... That you cry when you remember being abandoned as a wee th-"

"He WHAT?!" Romano shot up, his neck veins beginning to pop out in loathing sensations.

"Don't get mad at him! We pestered him about it and he was drunk as hell, we all were... I just remember that."

"What the FUCK!?" Lovino was beginning to get worked up again, his face heating up and his fists clenching. You could see the smallest tremor take hold of him as he grit his teeth and stared passionately enough that he could've burned holes into the ground.

"If it makes you feel any better... I still have all my globes and maps set back when I was a country, like I still exist." He nearly whispered "But you can't tell anyone I said that, or you will fucking pay." This doused the internal flame in Romano rather nicely; because a wash of pity came over him as he solemnly nodded. "It's lonely, being the only one..." Prussia huffed. "But I'm too awesome to be included in modern day maps anyways, I'm a fuckin' boss!" He cackled loudly "KESESESESESESE!" at his own lame statement, because Prussia was a dork at heart.  
...

"Kesesesee, I wonder if 'Tonio is out with any beautiful women tonight." Gilbert taunted, knowing Romano wouldn't like him saying that. "I assume he and Francis are out hunting down-"

"Stai zitto, idiota." (10)

"Why? Did I offend you? Oh! Wait do you have a CRUSH on Antonio!?" Gilbert was nearly as drunk as Lovino now, but he held his liquor so much better than the younger nation. He burst into that obnoxious laughter, a shimmering zeal in his crimson eyes. Of course, Gil knew that Lovi had a thing for Spain; it was just obvious by the way they acted around each other, and all the time they spent together even though Italy was independent.

"I HATE YOU!"

"No you don't! You're SCARED of me! KESSESESESE!" He then jumped up and roared in German, baring his fang-like pearly whites and flailing his arms out. Lovino actually twitched and pulled back against his chair, a mewl escaping his lips pitifully.

"I WISH YOU'D DISAPPEAR! I HOPE YOU DIE OUT AND NO ONE REMEMBERS YOU!" Now, it was that hateful comment that hit home for the Prussian; because that was his biggest fear, to fade without a single soul remembering what a great conqueror he'd been. How he'd accomplished most everything, and without him so much would be incomplete. It seemed most of the world's population didn't remember him already, so it wasn't that far a stretch to say no one would eventually.

"At least I have people who GIVE A SHIT about me! Unlike you and your great fuckin' Grandpa Rome!" Pure spite filled him, angst and emotion churning up inside him; he'd never had a very good temper. But he stopped when he saw that Romano's eyes were filled to the brim with tears, and it may have been the alcohol over-influencing their emotions, but he felt guilty for making his best friend's crush cry. "Oh fuck..."  
...

"Hey, hey, I didn't mean it. Bitte nicht weinen, nicht weinen ... über diese Menschen hasse dich nicht, es gibt Menschen, die kümmern. Shh ... Shh ... Hush, jetzt aufhören zu weinen, Lovino." (11) Gilbert soothed, sitting beside Romano while he bawled nonsense about how everyone hated him, even God hated him; in his opinion. How he sometimes wished that he didn't even exist, how easy it'd be on the world if he had never been Southern Italy. Although, he didn't fully understand the German language; the words began to calm him, not like Spain's words would, or his own fratello's; but in a sense that he couldn't allow Gilbert the pride of making him sob and break down. "Spain told me that he loved you, Roma... I know you like him back, so why don't you smile? Just smile. C'mon, you little bastard, show me a fucking smile!" Prussia spoke to him how he'd tried to cheer up his mates after hardship. But Romano would not comply to these instructions, and just stubbornly wiped his tears away and crossed his arms; feeling soggy and used up, as though he'd exhausted himself even more with the tears he shed.  
"Io lo amo, così tanto ... Troppo. Ma io non so come dimostrarlo." (12) Then Gilbert laughed and patted him on the back, pulling him into a brotherly half-hug.  
"Die Liebe wird einen Weg finden." (13)

Then their eyes met, and Romano cracked the cutest grin; his eyes crinkling at the corners and his teeth beginning to bare. He sighed in relief, closing his eyes; falling to rest at last, focusing in on Gilbert's heartbeat.  
But would this moment last forever? Of course not, it was short-lived.

The obnoxious Prussian grabbed Romano's curl violently then jabbed an offending finger on his sensitive tummy.

"GYA! CHIGI!" Gilbert burst into hysterical cackling, holding his heaving and aching sides.  
"Who the hell is Chigi!?"

Then the door opened, and a familiar Spanish accent droned out "What's wrong, Lovi, I heard you call for me!"

"Cazzo!" (14) Romano hissed, turning and punching the Prussian square in the jaw; and he continued to laugh through his anguish. Antonio stood there dumbstruck at the door frame, holding a basket of tomatoes. And Romano? Well Romano knew that he was in for one hell of a time when he saw Prussia again.

...

_FIN._

_Translations:_

_(1): "Little kitty"_

_(2): "Spain isn't at home-"_

_(3): "Tomato boy"_

_(4): "Shut the fuck up!"_

_(5): "Why is it always me? Does God hate me?"_

_(6): "My Lord."_

_(7): "I have to see this!"_

_(8): "Touch me and I call the mafia!"_

_(9): "The awesome me is sorry."_

_(10): "Shut up, idiot."  
(11): "Please, don't cry, don't cry over this... People don't hate you, there's people who care. Shh... Shh... Hush, now, stop crying, Lovino."  
(12): "I love him, so much... Too much. But I don't know how to show it."_

_(13): "Love will find a way." _

_(14): "Fuck!"_


	2. Chapter 2

_Due to some help to a friend (you know who you are ;D) I was inspired to continue the story; to draw some conclusion to the Drunken Night's fanfiction. Now, this is even MORE crackishly delightful! I mean, FRANCEY-PANTS COMES IN! So, I kinda got carried away in the CRACK. It's pretty funny, in my opinion. But, bear with me that I am off to NYC for a trip soon (won't bring my laptop) so I really SERIOUSLY rushed it, just so I'd do it in the end. It was completed at 1 a.m. (so it's really bad, like the last.) I'm not even sure what this really is, it's just kinda a series of drabbling and headcanons all mashed into a mixing pot of shit. I tried to do less translations; so you don't have to not know the story's words until the very end. Hehe, this is VERY OOC in my opinion :I Because I failed, oh well! What do y'all think? Dare I finish it? ;D_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, or ANYTHING! Just my own rubbish writing skills! XDDD_

Silence burdened the entire house, a very bizarre and unusual occasion; because it was peaceful. It was almost like the calm before a storm, before Lovino Vargas found some reason to explode with a tantrum of cussing and complaints. However, today was gloomy; grim and everything was washed with drizzles of rain dribbling from the heavy gray clouds in the crowded dim sky. He hadn't been sure of what exact time it was, there was no need for that. All he knew, was that he was completely, undeniably, and wholeheartedly alone. There were no tricks, no games of hide-and-go-seek like when he was a boy; he was left to be content in complete utter silence. This engulfed him in a stoic loneliness, but he lumbered on with activities he'd yearned to do since he was a naive boy. He cooked himself an extensive feast of Italian cuisine; an array of delectable tastes and scents. The wavering thick aroma of a freshly baked meal fumed out the open window. He stared out the open window, a light breeze catching and caressing his cheek; carrying the mouthwatering smells with it. He breathed in a deep sigh, taking in the mossy, earthy aura of the outdoors. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he felt every muscle in his body relax; losing its normal tension. Today was an off-day, if you couldn't tell already.

Lovino had been drinking extensively in the past, taking the sickeningly sweet liquid to his lips so often that his lips were tinted a deep red; which Antonio had immediately associated with tomatoes and pretty women. He'd been quiet, but internally he battled with every contradicting thought and sentence he sputtered out to the happy-go-lucky Spaniard. It was not the easiest task, plowing through his mental thought process and attempting to set his emotions straight. He nibbled anxiously on his lower lip, completely sober; but the back of his head buzzed and throbbed from the hangover he'd gotten in return for a bottle or two of wine. Gilbert had been over at his house, and he couldn't remember what happened after they spoke and Spain returned; because he passed out in an angry stupor and awoke in his own bed, surrounded by the comfort and warmth of starched white sheets and the chilling stimulation of childish memories. He'd recalled the many times he woke in a fuzzy state of mind, in that somewhat squeaky old bed. His thoughts were intruded by ones of the Spanish caretaker, and friend, that he possessed to this day.

He'd never been so wanted, even though at first he'd been rejected like everyone else. But he'd been given a chance, a second chance; and too many do-overs to count. It was unfair to the Spaniard, but it seemed that no one had ever cared for him like Spain did. There were people like Feliciano, his dear fratello, but even his fratello outshined him and disappeared during vital childhood years. Spain was the only one to refer to him as Italy, not just 'Romano.' That meant the world to him, and he didn't dare tell anyone. It was nearly sacred, and with the maturity blooming within him; so did his feelings for Antonio. They spouted over time, and he realized that it couldn't be anything other than that dreadful emotion called love. Their times ranged from carefree days in the fields, to supple and meaningless pecks on the cheek and forehead; and Spain still treated him as a boy in teenhood and adulthood. Lovino grimaced an awkward smile upon his reminiscing of the lost and past years. He hummed the tune of an old lullaby Spain had sung to him, of which the words he still didn't know. The melodic little song went from the C chord to the F chord, then Spain's fingers would dance up to the G and A minor on his guitar afterwards. It'd been long since he sang, always being too stubborn to comply with anyone's desires but his own.

The wind softly pushed his hair from his pale face, sending shivers straight down his spine; sending a message of bad omen for the weather. The rain didn't intensify in the slightest, it continued to sprinkle down in a misty haze. The rain seemed to wash away the dirt caked on the fence, giving it a new start; a exuberant beginning. This only furthermore led Lovino to daydream about his crush, in question; a handsome and kindhearted role model for him. Then came a rattling of an opening door, but by the way it was so carefully opened; he could tell it was not Spain, who usually burst through the door with that giddy godawful grin. That boisterous and boyish laughter that caused his heart to thud and his face to flush, and butterflies would mass-produce in his stomach. He smelt a vague smokey scent as well, and realized that while he was lost in his thoughts; he'd successfully burned the sauce he was cooking for a bowl of spaghetti. Lovi yelped and pulled the simmering saucepan away, to avoid further damage to the meal. He cursed himself for being so stupid, for letting a "tomato-bastardo" invade his mind and lead him to ruin a perfectly decent bowl of pasta.

That's when he realized, he was not alone. He felt the presence of somebody new, someone that he was not even remotely fond of, looming in the kitchen beside him. His heart skipped a beat, and his hands shook a bit. Romano turned slowly to the creepy-vibe emanating from a flamboyant Frenchman who'd snuck into his kitchen during his alone-time. At the sight of the old enemy, a girlish and high-pitched shriek of terror came from the Italian nation; who leapt back and grabbed the first 'weapon' he could, a trusty frying pan. "AAHH! IT'S F-F-FRANCE!" He felt his entire body coil up in fear and discomfort, easing himself into a corner against the countertop; clutching the frying pan as though it were a lifeline. His breathing became ragged and shallow, his hazel eyes as wide as saucers and his heart racing as though he'd just sprinted a mile. Rampaging slurs of hatred, distrust, fright, and anger coursed through his body.

"Bonjour! How is mon petit ami italien?" (1) But the Frenchman's words were only greeted with a clumsy wave of a pan and a squeal of manly unhappiness. His sparkling blue eyes lost their spark, only temporarily. "Gilbert told me about what you confessed to the other night, oui?" He pursed his lips and raised his brilliantly plucked brows. His spindly long finger traced the stubble on his acute jawline, as he pondered out loud "And I was very eager t-" Lovino's tough exterior kicked in and he spat out in unadulterated loathing "GET THE FUCK OUT!"

"Tsk, tsk, ma chère, it's so unpleasant when you use your mouth like that." He added a wink in for good measure, still being a shameless pervert. This only caused Romano to draw back even further, like an animal caught in a cage; and Francis swore he heard the Italian growl like a dog, or a tiger. It caught him off-guard, that animalistic displeasure Romano felt for him after all these years. Sure, he was a groping, touchy Frenchman; but Antonio would never allow Francis to actually DO anything to the Italian. Roughing him up a bit was fine, mussing his hair and causing him to be flustered and upset; when didn't that happen to Lovino anyways? But anything past that was strictly off-limits, and his friend made it clear; with warnings of a very dark pirate returning to behead France. That was enough to make anyone's insides churn, but not Lovino; he still hadn't the slightest clue on the full extent of Antonio's darker side, and he never would unless he got Gilbert and France to share their gruesome war tales. "Fuck off." Lovi hissed out through gritted teeth, clenching them so hard that it wouldn't be a surprise if his teeth shattered and cracked.

"I'm very interested, Romano, why don't you just tell him how you feel? Ohonhonhon, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." He smugly approached, but his body was hunched and low; his hands outstretched as though he were to grasp the Italian. Lovino was only pressed against the countertop furthermore, and he gave Francis a good, hard whack in the face with the grisly frying pan; withdrawing a groan of anguish and a "Vous pute!" (2) "What the HELL was that for?!" He gingerly rubbed his rapidly reddening face, clicking his tongue as he tasted coppery blood in his mouth. With both countries shooting violent strings of curses at one another in their native languages, communication was nonexistent and difficult to even put into words. This continued for roughly 4 minutes, before Francis broke it with yanking the pan from Romano's trembling white hands; throwing the 'weapon' into the sink.

"Non, non! You are done with this now, you're being a nuisance." France continued to stroke his aching cheek; noting that in the future, he'd have to make the Italian pay somehow. He took a step forward, his body blocking any possible escape route for the Italian; who he knew was a sucker for surrendering and prancing off to hide until turmoil ended.

"O-OI! G-Get away you stupid pervert!" Lovino chirped, his knees beginning to stiffen as his blood ran cold and sweat perpetrated on his upper brow. His quivering and bouncy voice echoed throughout the empty house. The throbbing in the back of his head seemed to intensify, and the world was very hard to focus on; especially with the growing premonition of a downfall rising with each movement the Frenchman made toward him. "D-Don't come any closer, I'm warning you!" The Italian's tone rose with effort to intimidate, but it was all ignored by the giggling French bastard.

The man grabbed his tender sides, causing his body to spasm as he screeched Italian pleads and cusses; it was hard to distinguish which was which. The Frenchman insisted "Now, OHONHON, TELL ME, ROMANO, DO YOU LIKE SPAAIN!?" He was crackishly overdone, his beautiful blonde locks falling in his face; clinging to his neck as he struggled to remain dominant while Romano screamed as though he were being stabbed, but the screams subsided into frantic laughter; as the other 'tickle-attacked' him so gleefully. It was a secret Prussia shared with him, and one that was effectively useful in this battle between them. Sure, it may be bad that he just broke into the house to interrogate the older Vargas brother; but it had to be done, according to the troublesome duo of Gilbert and Francis. Prussia, thankfully, stayed out of this affair; having family business to attend to. But, lord knew, he was sitting at home with that obnoxious 'Kessesese!' as he awaited to hear what happened between France and Italy. Lovino was writhing, his body shaking and wracked by hysterical and forced mixes of laughter and shrieking; his limbs spasmodically lashing out as he struggled to fight back, only to have his wretched sensitive body prodded and violated once more. His personal space bubble, was no more.  
"NO!" Romano cried out, but France repeated his question again.

"DO YOU LIKE SPAIN!?" The torture continued.

"NO!"

"YES YOU DO!"

"NO! NO! NO!" Romano's eyes were glazed with tears, and he opened his eyes and hit Francis dead center in the face; causing his nose to bleed profusely all over the two of them. France grabbed his nose and flew back forward, his arms falling at Romano's twitching sides. The rain had begun to hammer down forcefully outside, and a gust of chills came splintering through the open window; slamming the pane with such brutality that it was eerie and uninviting. "Gah! Why would you do that you!-" Francis began to yell, his temper turning sour as his grabby hands reached out for Lovino's frame once more; which he also noted was rather feminine.

Then came a roar of thunder, and a groan of rumbling in the distance; the house lights flickered, and Lovi began to curse desperately; his entire body tensing up as he tried to shrink into nonexistence. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-" He mewled out over and over, then the lights went completely out as a deafening crack split through the cloudy skies. Francis was speaking in French, speaking nonsense that Lovino would never understand; and didn't care to understand, he was too preoccupied with the horror of what happened around him. He outwardly refused to show any further weakness, to show just how traumatically terrified he was. Lovi ceased his flailing and froze, stopping as though he'd just had a heart attack and passed out. He looked around the dark room, delusional from the nightmare playing out before him. France and thunderstorms, thunderstorms and France; it seemed all too surreal for reality. His eyes were flitting around the room frantically, and a certain hopelessness overcame lightening illuminated the room, withdrawing a pitiful shriek of fear. "CHIGI!" He yelped, muffled by his own hands covering his face.

"Gil wasn't kidding, was he?" An honest expression of concern masked France's face, and all Romano could do was nod diligently as he kept himself from breaking down. He'd never had to endure these storms without Antonio at his side, and when he had; it was only a matter of minutes before Spain would come home to comfort him. Lovino felt the weight of the Frenchmen lift from his body, and his own frame be guided upwards to stand on shaky unsure feet. "Oui, he certainly wasn't." France murmured to himself, taking it as his responsibility to keep Roma sane while he awaited Spain's return. He'd only gone to the market, so he wasn't far off; he was out for more ingredients, so Lovi could bake a cake of some sort (or something like that). Francis had never been fond of lightening storms, it wasn't pretty and it wasn't pleasant; it was disruptive, loud, and it freaked a majority of people out even if it's only a little bit. "Up, up, come on; let's get upstairs to the attic now." Francis felt as though he were speaking to Mattie again, and it brought a fairytale-ish warmth to his heart. He held Romano's wrist, and you could tell that Lovino was struck by childish fear.

The Frenchman lit a candle and grabbed a heap of blankets, leading Lovino to the attic; where there were less windows and less of a chance that Romano could get away. The other male spewed filth at him and lashed out viciously; trying to get a good hit, but to no avail were his attempts. He was stuck being dragged upstairs like a pig to slaughter. France set the candles up and tossed a blanket over Romano, allowing him to get comfortable (or as comfortable as you could in these circumstances.) Thunder rippled through the fields, being rather loud; and it was followed by another slash of lightening in the sky. Lovino screwed his eyes shut and held the blankets tightly around him, rocking as he whispered Italian to himself. "So, Lovino, why don't you tell me about what you and Gilbert talked about last n-?" Francis began, but was cut off by a shoe (the first thing Lovi grabbed) hitting his face. "Why'd you tell Prussia and not m-?"

"Shut the h-h-hell up, unless you w-wanna b-be-" Lovi retorted.

"But, Romano!... Unless there's favoritism going on. Hmm... Ohonhon-"

"I hate all of you bastardos."

"That's not what Gilbert told me you said." Francis grinned and scooted closer, causing Lovino's face to get a vibrant pink; tomato-like and cute. "Ohonhonhon" Francis chuckled at the other's despair, but he refused to open up to Francis as well; Gilbert, yes, but not France. "Just tell me a little bit, something I can take to the grave." He pleaded, and Lovino's face only flamed up again.

"What the hell is w-wrong with you, y-you bastardo!? I'd never tell YOU anything!"

"But Roma!-" And then lightening struck once more, causing both to jump and for Lovino to hide under his fort of blankets and quilts. "Oh, mon petit Italien..." Francis sighed, bringing his frame to the shaking Italian while he was shaking uncontrollably under his blankets. "Oui, you don't like thunder at all..." He mused, putting a cautious arm around the other; feeling it tense up and a few muffled curses. But Lovino didn't draw back. "I can help you, oui?"

"W-with what?" The Italian squeaked, not enjoying this level of intimacy; his heart was thudding so fast he thought it'd burst.

"With Toni, I've been friends with him for centuries; I know who he is, and what he likes and doesn't. I know who he loves, as well." This caused Romano to hesitate to speak, only hiding in that shivering ball of quilts; whimpering with each slam and crash of the storm outside.

"W-why should I care? I don't care, bastardo."

"Ah, but you do." Francis crooned, finally pulling himself closer; but Romano jerked away at this. The attic was musty, full of old relics from ages ago; and as much as France wanted to bask in the memories, he was stopped by Lovino and the fact that he'd probably break something in this awful weather. "Antonio spoke with us after you'd passed out, I'd come over; Ohonhon." He tried to suppress that unique laugh of his, because it creeped people out; for some bizarre reason.

"What d-did he say?" Another streak of lightening and sound of thunder in the distance, Lovino sniffled and kept from showing his weakness; or too much of it.

"He said-" They were cut off by the attic door opening rather loudly; and a massive dripping figure came flopping from out of it on powerful limbs. "OH SHIT!" France hollered, yanking Romano's shoulders; causing him to jump and scream, coming out of his blankets to see a shadowy monster at the corner of the attic.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" They both cried out in unison.

"LOVII!" At that voice Lovino's heart stopped and his eyes widened, his face heating up quickly. Spain rushed to his side and was greeted warmly by Lovi jumping from his quilts as another roar of thunder and lightening hit, and Lovino grasped onto him for dear life; his eyes squinting shut as he cried out in terror. Francis was silent, watching the scene unfold before him. Spain apologized desperately in Spanish, and they both sunk to the ground. Antonio sings softly, his voice low, the vibration of his chest immensely comforting. He goes on with that ancient lullaby he sang to Romano during thunderstorms when he was a child, sings about memories, about love, about laughter and the future as the storm draws on. Francis and Lovino didn't say anything, just huddled closer and listened, lulled into a stupor of serenity by Antonio's Spanish melody; and although France felt as though he were intruding on some sort of intimacy, he saw the true extent of love that the two possessed.

_"Nunca he amado a alguien el camino Te amo  
Nunca he visto una sonrisa como la tuya  
Y si usted crece para ser rey o un payaso o mendigo  
Me gustaría decir que eres mi favorito en la ciudad_

Nunca he tenido una mano tan suave y sagrado  
Cuando oigo tu risa Sé llave del cielo  
Y cuando yo sea grande para ser una amapola en el cementerio  
Te enviaré todo mi amor en la brisa

Y si el viento no soplará su camino, voy a ser el sol  
Y si el sol no brillará tu camino, voy a ser la lluvia  
Y si la lluvia no va a lavar todos sus dolores y molestias  
Voy a encontrar alguna otra forma de saber que estás bien.

Estás bien ..." (3)

Lovino's eyes were shut, and he didn't fight back; but instead sat in Spain's embrace; an ache in his heart, and docile in every way. It was almost like he was droned into submission by the song and the storm, and Francis watched, and watched; until he saw Lovino had fallen fast asleep. It was almost like he was a child again, and a small smile crossed France's face.

"Oh Toni, that's just... Precious." Francis whispered, careful not to wake Romano; who was a rather deep sleeper.

"Si, isn't he?" Spain was too much of a thickskulled dimwit to realize it was about the actions and intimacy they shared, not how 'cute' Romano looked when he was asleep. "How did you get in here, Francis?" Antonio asked, blinking a few times; he knew that Lovi didn't like the Frenchman.

"Oui, no reason; Gil and I just wanted to ask him something, but Gilbert had to stay home. Then the storm struck." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Antonio nodded, too gullible for his own good.

"Gracias, for watching over him." Antonio grinned, stroking Lovino's hair and lifting him up; carrying him down the attic stairs and to his own bedroom.

"Attendre, Spain... I have to speak with you about something." (4)

"Si?" Antonio took one last look back at Lovino's sleeping frame.

"It's about Lovino."

"What is it?"

"Je pense qu'il vous aime." (5)

...

_TBC_?

**Translations:**

_(1): "My little Italian friend" ((BTW: '__ma chère' means; "My dear" if you couldn't figure it out xD))_

_(2): "You bitch!"_

_(3): __"I have never loved someone the way I love you_  
_I have never seen a smile like yours_  
_And if you grow up to be king or clown or pauper_  
_I will say you are my favorite one in town_

_I have never held a hand so soft and sacred_  
_When I hear your laugh I know heaven's key_  
_And when I grow to be a poppy in the graveyard_  
_I will send you all my love upon the breeze_

_And if the breeze won't blow your way, I will be the sun_  
_And if the sun won't shine your way, I will be the rain_  
_And if the rain won't wash away all your aches and pains_  
_I will find some other way to tell you you're okay._

_You're okay..."_

_(This is the song "I Have Never Loved Someone; My Brightest Diamond" Go have a listen, then imagine Antonio singing it in Spanish. It's the sweetest lullaby, and I couldn't get it out of my head. I'm personally terrified of thunderstorms, so I know how Lovi feels. But I sing this to my (yes believe it) dear cat when he's antsy. ^_^)_

_(4): "Wait-"_

_(5): "I think he loves you."_


End file.
